


Hell Hath No Fury

by StarProphecy7279



Category: Original Work
Genre: Demons, Short Story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-07
Updated: 2015-06-07
Packaged: 2018-04-03 06:28:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4090510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarProphecy7279/pseuds/StarProphecy7279
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hell hath no fury like a woman's scorn</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hell Hath No Fury

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in high school but I'm still really proud of this one. In fact, I may have read it and... been inspired to start work on a full length novel. Don't judge me -_-

A Woman's Scorn

She hated clubs. Hated them. Especially now. How had this quaint little land become such a vile and obscene nation? How had they managed to escape the British rule? Leave it to those selfish men to consider the phenomenal amount of freedom given to them by the king less than substandard. A Nation of hypocrites. That's what this was now, nothing more.

More than that, how had the music here become so tasteless? In her time beautiful arrays of piano and violin had been appreciated for the art they were. Now they were ignored, tossed in the trash to be replaced instead by the atrocious din that assaulted her ears now. This could not even be called music; it was nothing more than profanity and shrieking. Pathetic.

There had been a time when indecency was punishable by death. Now people embraced it, relished it, even encouraged it, a fact that was painfully unforgettable by the bodies around her, glistening with sweat and jerking around as if possessed. Her old profession was illegal in this part of the world and yet people here had no shame in their sexuality. They had no concept of the consequences in the eternity of their lewdness. In her time, she had been properly ashamed of her immodesty, but these woman—not women, animals. All of them were nothing more than animals—flaunted it, acted as if their bodies were nothing more than objects to be put on display for the pleasure of the inferiors. They'd learn. You couldn't trust those testosterone-driven mongrels. They were no better than dogs; loyal to anyone who touched the right area, easy to manipulate and unreliable even when trained. A dog who betrays is killed. This action takes care of the immediate problem but one bite often turns one away from the animal.

Her eye twitch in aggravation when she was touched, and it took an impossible amount of control not to turn around and close her disproportionately strong hand around the offenders throat. An accident, she reasoned. Most likely an accident. The number of people in this dingy, flashing, vibrating room was ridiculous. How could these people stand to be so crowded? She could hardly see the bar from her spot in the center of all the bodies. If she couldn't get over there, she couldn't find what she had come here to do, what she had been doing for the past 355 years. She needed to meet her quota least her soul be dragged to Hell. She couldn't have that. It was still far too early; there were still far too many men in the world.

She'd known when she made the deal three and a half centuries ago, she would eventually have to be put to rest, and when that happened, she would be eternally tormented. Eternal torment, what a laugh. Hell. How humorous. She'd seen Hell already. Her previous life had been that. There was nothing God could do to her now that could be worse than the life she'd come from. She endured that for twenty-three long years, a very long time when she had lived. If she could endure the humiliation and pain she'd experienced before, she could endure Hell… when the time finally came.

A sigh of relief passed her red-stained lips when she finally reached the edge of the crowed, followed by a shudder when she looked back and realized just how many people were crammed together on the dance floor. How she had managed to claw her way through that without maiming anyone, she would never know. Shaking her head, dark brown curls bobbing from the motion, she turned to the bar, her cold, green eyes searching intently for a suitable candidate. This close to the dead line, she couldn't be picky. Anyone would have to do. Her stomach turned violently at the sight of the blonde at the end of the bar: She hated blondes. That man had been blonde. She searched for another, but from where, she was standing he was the only one she could use. A glance at her wristwatch ended her search: 10:30. She didn't have time for this. He would have to do. Swallowing her disgust, she forced a smile onto her pale face, loosening herself up: it had to look naturally. He had to believe her.

"Hard day at the office?"

Her voice came out a happy chirp as she sat down next to the man she had decided on. Instinctively, her eyes traveled to the glinting ring on his left hand, the reason she'd had to settle for him. The hand in question rested loosely on a small glass of alcohol—whisky maybe? Didn't matter. Good, she thought, perhaps he'd be easier to persuade. They always were when they'd been drinking.

His blue eyes moved slowly from the spot on the counter he'd been focusing on and he froze when they met her face. This was how it usually happened, they sat frozen in time, entranced by her. Mindless dogs….

"Yes… yes it was."

He gave her an impossibly over-flirtatious smile.

"What's a beauty like you doing here all alone?"

"Waiting for someone to change that."

These lines were so vile and ridiculous, really.

"What's your name, lovely?" So condescending….

"Andy."

"What an adorable name."

Oh yes, this would be simple. She leaned forward on the stool just enough to tempt him. After all these years, this part came naturally. She didn't even have to listen to his mindless drabble. Instead, her mind wandered back to her first life….

Money was short, her husband was dead, and she was a woman in the 1600s. She had no choice but to sell herself. She broke herself for the sake of money, survival. What else could a woman with no family do in her situation? She never thought back then that she would be punished so severely for her indecency.

But she was indeed punished when she met that man. The man who had been only a client, who returned over and over again, eventually claiming he loved her. Liar. Vulgar, disgusting liar. But she had been naive back then and trusted him, believing every false word he spoke, even after she found out he was married. She had thought they could keep their relationship a secret keep it hidden in the shadows while they continued on with what they wanted. But she had been wrong. They were caught.

She would have been happy to face the adultery charges for the sake of love but the man evidently did not agree with her for in his desperation to evade punishment, he claimed he was not at fault; he had been curse, he had screamed, cursed by a witch, seduced into doing something so vile. She remembered her "trial." Those idiotic men never gave her a chance to defend herself. Men had never cared much for her: Her father had beaten her and her mother senseless and taken his own life after she was married off to a man who was unfaithful and cruel to her. She shouldn't have been surprised when she was found guilty and sentenced to the stake.

A strange thing can happen to an incensed soul when it is released into the afterlife. It only happens to those who experience the sin of wrath in their last moments on Earth. It had been so long ago and yet she remembered clearly the pitch black expanse that seemed to go on for eternity, neither warm nor cold, echoing despite its massive size the unnatural darkness that concealed everything but her own body, naked, from her eyes. Then, another man appeared before her, at least she had assumed it was a man. He'd been much too large to make out a face. He had loamed over her, a giant in this vastness, his voice booming out with impossible authority.

"You've been wronged, Andromeda Pendergasten," the voice had stated plainly, the sheer power it held making her feel even smaller.

"Yes…" she had whispered.

"You parted from you Earthly life with Wrath in your heart."

"Yes…."

"Would you like a second chance at it?"

She'd looked up as far as she could, searching in vain for a face, to look into with confusion.

"I-I… I beg your pardon?"

"You are a soul in limbo," the voice had explained. "By the divine rule, you are required to make a decision."

"A… a decision?"

"I can take your soul now and turn you over to judgment… or I can give you a second chance at life."

"A second chance? Yes! I want to go back! I must have my revenge!"

"Not so fast, little one."

A colossal hand appeared in front of her, held up in a motion for patience.

"You must understand in full the conditions of the covenant before you make your decision."

"Whatever I must give, I'll give!" she had screamed, her shrill voice pelting back at her with the force of a thousand bullets.

"If you chose to go back to the living world in order to enact your revenge, you will have to pay for your choice with your soul."

"Take it! You can have it! I have no need for a soul!"

"Your eternal resting place will be hell."

"It matters not! I must have my revenge!"

"Very well. Allow me to outline your duty."

"Hey."

She was forced back to the present by the call of the man in front of here. The look in his eye was sultry, hungry. She had to fight hard to prevent her eyes from rolling. Typical man.

"Hey," she simpered back in a voice that sounded nauseating in her own ears. "Do you maybe want to…," she leaned closer to him, seductively, "make this night just little more special."

He didn't even stop to consider the connotation of the ring on his finger, what it was meant to symbolize. That poor woman was waiting home all alone for her man. She'd never be able to understand the mistake she'd made in falling into his arms. For a moment, Andromeda pitied the foolish woman, but it passed when she glanced back at her wristwatch: A quarter past eleven. She had to take this man now.

He seemed only too eager, jumping up from the barstool, dropping some money on the counter and following her out of the God forsaken (Aha, irony) club, stumbling slightly due to the amount he had consumed. She couldn't remember his name or if he'd even mentioned it. She didn't care. The chilly autumn air was soothing after the infernal heat in that place, though she supposed she would, very soon, have to get used to the heat. She shivered, whether due to the cold or the thought, she did not know. The man noticed and slipped an arm around her slim shoulders. She had to fight hard against herself to smile up at him in appreciation rather than rip off the imposing appendage. How dare he touch her? How dare any man think they had a right to touch her?

Knowing she was crunched for time, she had planned ahead, reserving a room at a nearby motel, trashy, warn down and dirty but it didn't matter. She doubted she'd actually be staying there for too long. Just long enough to finish her business and leave. The resounding click when she swiped the card key was all the motivation she needed to throw up the door and glance at the clock. Only fifteen to midnight. This had to happen quickly.

She threw a glare over her shoulder at the man in the doorway. This stupid moron! He should have already done it! Was he playing the gentleman card? He was not fooling anyone.

"Are you waiting for an open invitation," she said, managing to make it sound flirty rather than threatening.

The man smirked. She hated it when they smirked. But he was approaching her now so she let it go. His arms were around her, his lips on hers, moving with haste. It revolted her. Never mind it, she needed a confession.

"What are you planning on doing to me?" It sounded sultry even to her.

He told her and she chuckled in amusement.

"You're an adulterer," she whispered in his ear.

The man stopped, moving away to glance first at her then the gold band around his finger.

"What she doesn't know won't hurt her," he said quietly, in a tone that was clearly meant to convince himself rather than Andromeda.

"No, I suppose not," Andromeda murmured, a hand at her back, fiddling with something she had been oh so desperate to use ever since she'd laid eyes on this man. "However… it will hurt… YOU!" The last word cam out a shriek as the dagger flew into the man's chest, pulling a surprised scream from his lips. Andromeda doubted he felt the pain, she'd been kind enough to be quick about it. The warm blood on her hands offered more pleasure than this man could ever give her and the tears in his eyes only added to the effect.

"A man should treat a woman better…," She whispered as the man slumped, remaining upright only due to her red, claw-like nails clutching his shirt.

He sputtered something irrelevant as she laughed at the blood pooling from the corners of his mouth. He was holding on pretty well, this one; the dagger had gone straight through his heart.

"Now hurry along, the Devil is waiting."

Her wish was granted: his eyes rolled back in his head and his struggling ceased. Indifferently she let the man fall, his weight wrenching the knife out of his chest, the crash forcing her to smile.

She glanced at the clock again: 11:58. Perfect. She'd met her deadline with two minutes to spare. Now where was he?

As if answering her thought, the purple-black tornado of smoke appeared by the body, spiraling and swirling into the shape of a man. This was one she didn't mind seeing. He was actually quite attractive: Black hair, green eyes, solid demeanor, he was at least useful.

"You cut it close tonight, Andromeda. We weren't sure you'd make it."

"I've yet to be late," she proclaimed proudly.

"Too bad," the Deliverer said squatting and placing a hand over the wound, "I so look forward to the day I get to ferry you down."

She wasn't sure if that was intended as a compliment or an insult so she made no comment, watching the blue-white smoke rise out of the man's body. The Deliverer pulled the lid off the jar he carried with him and, with a wave of his hand, ushered the smoke inside, capping the man's soul to be taken to its final resting place.

"Ya know, I don't know how you do it," The Deliverer said, standing back to his full height and regarding Andromeda, emotionlessly. "Twenty-three adulterous souls every month, for the past four hundred years. It seems impossible."

Andromeda flashed him a smile, tainted dark with the sadism she had developed in her long life.

"Hell hath no fury like a woman's scorn."

The Deliverer hummed, thoughtlessly.

"Well, you know how this works. I'm required to remind you, you must reach your quota again by midnight thirty days from now or your soul will belong to us."

"Yes."

"Great," the Deliverer said, without enthusiasm. "Well, I'll see you after your next find."

"It's a date."

The smoke storm appeared again and The Deliverer was gone. Her mind still on the demon, she turned to the corpse, contemplating how to dispose of it. The empty eyes moved around the room and rested on the furnace. A smile graced her lips.

"Perfect," she whispered. "It only seems fitting you meet the same fate I did."


End file.
